


world enough and time twisting and changing

by orphan_account



Category: Il buono il brutto il cattivo | The Good The Bad and The Ugly (1966), yojimbo sanjuro
Genre: Dimension Travel, Language Barrier, Language Kink, M/M, POV Alternating, Time Travel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-27
Updated: 2018-07-27
Packaged: 2019-06-17 07:19:09
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,530
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15456165
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: The man with no name meets a man in the desert who says his name is sanjuro.Their paths have crossed and twisted since then.(Sanjuro from the Yojimbo 1961 movie.)





	world enough and time twisting and changing

The man shoots once, sending a bullet through the bandit’s chest. He falls.  
The wind picks up.  
He walks over to the bandit, to the bags of gold he had been running with. Another bounty, another day, another meal for him. Or a new gun, this one’s getting rusty.  
The man loads the corpse onto his horse and saddles up, lights a cigar.  
Tips his hat down low over his eyes and squints into the distance.  
There’s a figure walking towards him, through the kicked up dust and the glare of the desert sun.  
The man urges his horse on, riding slowly up to the figure. It’s a man.  
Straight backed, dark eyes calm and confident, one hand is visible underneath what he wears, some kind of robe. He scratches his chest and looks up at the man as he passes.  
The man tips his hat, the other nods.  
“こんにちは.”  
“Hello.”  
“何?”  
“What?”  
-  
Even though there was a language barrier they still managed to work something out.  
“What do they call you?” The man lights his cigar and leans back against a rock. He lets the other man come over to sit beside him.  
“三十郎.”  
“San-jeer-oh?”  
Sanjuro nods, looks at him with lazy, expect eyes.  
“They call me Blondie. Lots of things besides that.”  
“B-lawn-dee?”  
The man nods. They smile to each other slowly.  
-  
Sanjuro takes Blondie’s neck in his mouth, gently, like a dog carrying a bone. He sucks at his skin, licks that layer of dust and sweat off.  
Blondie grabs hold of his hips. Flips him over onto his back, “See, I like to be the one in charge.” Rolls his hips over his groin, “Nothin’ personal.”  
-  
They met outside of the village and conversed in Spanish, playing catchup with each others lives.  
“In my time her name’s Marisol.” The man demurred, smoking sheepishly, “It didn’t work out as well as with her.”  
“Nui.” Sanjuro sipped his sake and scratched his neck, “Yeah, her husband is spineless. She loves Unosuke more then him.”  
“Nicer here?”  
“No, just a little more endearing.”  
-  
His neck and shoulders are sore and he splashes water over them, grimacing. Back on the shore his horse nickers.  
Sanjuro appears then, managing to keep on his feet but sprawling against a tree. He grasps his throat and chokes for air, splutters something in Japanese. Bends over and spits bile onto the grass.  
“Not looking so good.” The man comments in Spanish, rubbing his neck.  
Sanjuro coughs and straightens up, eyes the man and his lack of clothing. “You knew I was coming.”  
“No. Just stiff from sleeping here.” The man gestures lazily to the ground.  
Which prompts Sanjuro to look and ask, “Who’s that?”  
The man starts to get out of the river holding his clothes in one hand, “Her name’s Marisol.”  
-  
Dust stung his skin like tiny missiles. The man pulled his hat down and hunched over the rains, squinted. He could see maybe two feet ahead of him, wasn’t good out here in the middle of nowhere.The horse, a tall bay with white stockings, nickered and bucked a little. The man rains him in and stands, with dust swirling around them, waiting for the storm to pass.  
Sanjuro appears as a shadowy figure beyond his sight. The man spurs his horse, blind, gallops a few feet until Sanjuro’s hand grabs the bridle. He hauls himself up behind the man, who feels his arms wrap around his middle.  
Spanish:  
The man asks, “When did you get here?”  
“A minute ago.”  
“We can’t go anywhere in this storm.”  
“Fine.”  
They get off the horse after a few minutes, finding shelter under a rocky cliff face.  
Goddess, but that storm lasts a long time. After a while Sanjuro leans up against the rock and falls asleep, his chin tilting forward onto his chest. The man pulls his poncho closer over himself, looks sidelong at the samurai sleeping. He’s almost sure he’s snoring, with the wind howling so loud it’s hard to tell.  
Gets pretty lonely out here, most days. The man’s been through it enough times for him to hardly notice. But the realization hits hard when he encounters Sanjuro out here, miles from any town or most folks.  
-  
The man kneads his chin into the crook of his shoulder, and Sanjuro makes a stupid, desperate noise in the back of his throat.  
“Motto yukkuri.” He murmurs, but the man just moves faster against him, bastard.  
They are in the desert and the dry heat makes Sanjuro’s skin creak and bleed. He’s just come from a misty forest in the south of Japan, and the moist air was just beginning to work on him when he traveled.  
He fell.  
Through dark cold empty air.  
Feeling the rush of frigid wind against his face.  
Sitting suddenly in the sand, dry sand and sun sucking up the water standing on his skin. Looking up to see the man getting off his horse and starting toward him, bulge apparent even under those stupid corduroy pants he wears. Him pushing Sanjuro down onto the sand, with the sun glaring in his face. Tearing his gi down his shoulders and chest.  
-  
It’s not recommended the you travel with a fever. The shock slams you to the ground in a forest somewhere, sweating through your gi, head spinning, throat burning for sake.  
This is how the man comes across you, how he comes to carry you to his camp site. Set you down on some blankets and tip some whiskey into your mouth.  
He thinks whiskey can solve any ailment.  
It doesn’t help really, just makes your mind fuzzier. You lay under the blankets for a while with your eyes closed, hearing the man whistling softly to himself.  
“It’s too hot.” You murmur after a while, kicking the the blanket off and working your gi off of your shoulders. The man looks over at you tossing your clothes away. He puts his hands on his knees and leans forward, eyes following your movements like your a piece of meat. You watch him watching your flushed shoulders and face. And probably your dick too, just reading his gaze.  
“Stop looking at me like I’m some 汚い娼婦.” His eyebrows perk up at the exotic language.  
“How’s that?” He’s suddenly advancing, walking around the fire slowly. You couldn’t care less, being hazy and drunk and half sure that you’re having a fever dream.  
“Like a filthy whore.” You translate glibly.  
He smiles lazily, and you let him kneel by you and kiss the flush on your neck, “but you are,” he says, “your letting me, do this.”  
Putting a hand on your leg and trailing his fingers up. You roll your head back until you feel his other hand holding it up. “Don’t fall asleep.”  
“I’m not missing this, baka.” you smirk up at the overcast sky just as a drop of rain lands on your cheek. It feels like the touch of Buddha on your heated skin, makes you sure that this is real.  
“There.” His breath hitches like he’s found something special, fingers twitch and stroke somewhere deep.  
You bark softly, “Kuso.”  
This might be unrelated, but it’s then that your fever seems to break, and your able to think clearer. Even able to grab fistfuls of his stupid poncho and drag him gracelessly to you.  
-  
Your mouth tightens, like a rope. “Well Tuco. Adiós.”  
“Blondie, Blondie!” He chokes, the rope tightens, “Cut me loose you two faced stinking bastard!” He gasps.  
He kicks.  
You grin through a mouthful of smoke, “Wouldn’t do that if I were you.” Draws a lungful of tobacco, “Got no one to blame but yourself. Why trust me?”  
He spits. and draws in a breath breath, “la mierda puta pieza de-.”  
“After all I’ve done to you? Why keep following?”  
Tuco’s eyes are bugging out his his red face. He forces himself to calm down, glare at you as he tries to keep still.  
You spur your horse, start away from him.  
“Blondie.” He coughs. Weakly.  
He’s dying for air and a apology, and you think, what the hell.  
Out of the corner of your sight you see Sanjuro. Standing on the hilltop.  
Your turn around and fire and the rope snaps. Tuco falls to the earth. He scrambles to his unsteady feet as you ride away.  
-  
Tuco crested the hilltop and looked down, panting. Blondie was there. They were in the grass and Blondie was riding this jap Tuco had never seen before like he was a fucking purebred.  
“Hey hey hey!” Tuco rasped, pointed his gun in the air and fired twice. Blondie’s head jerked up, squinting annoyedly up at him.  
“Tuco.” He growled. The jap turned his head too, what part of it not pressed into the ground. He panted through his mouth and stared up. Tuco felt a prickle like a mouse or something had crawled down his spine. He shivered.  
The guy vanished.  
“Jesus-!” Tuco yelped and slid down the hill. Blondie kneeled naked and sweaty with his dick sticking out.  
“Your fault.” He provided, squinting, “how about helping me out?”  
Tuco stared at his dick.  
"What the fuck was that?"


End file.
